


In Sickness and in Health (yes, even when he's being a prat)

by Des98



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dragon Pox, Everyone lives, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic, but basically this is so fluffy it's mostly empty calories, except dumbledore because honestly, he can go fuck himself, some past mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-03-23 15:03:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13790223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Des98/pseuds/Des98
Summary: I'm still sick; probably why I wanted to make this fluffy sickfic piece instead of working on my longer fics like a good little writer.  Anyway, enjoy my loves.Des ;)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JessicaAuburn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessicaAuburn/gifts).



           Honestly, of all the possible dangers to being Harry Potter’s fiancée, Draco could easily tell you that most of them are conflated and based on the media’s perception of ‘Perfect Potter.’  While the wizarding world at large was surprised when Harry chose to take the position as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts, Ron, Hermione, Draco, and the others who knew Harry well were just pleased that he’d chosen to follow his heart instead of allowing the pressure of saving wizarding Britain to extend beyond Voldemort and into the life he’d more than earned for himself.  Ron (and yes, Draco still affectionately called him Weasel, sod off) might be happy as the up-and-comer of the auror department, and Hermione was rapidly making headway with a complete overhaul of the ministry’s social work department, but Draco and his Harry had absolutely no desire for anything but a quiet life as the DADA and Potions professors (and it was hard to tell who’d been more relieved when Draco took Severus’s old position- the students, or the man himself, who was more than happy to flee the ‘wretched institution of dunderheads’ for a quiet cottage in Wales making potions to his heart’s content). 

            So it was that Draco’s biggest problems weren’t worrying about his love working late night shifts on dangerous auror missions or who was going to try to kill him next, but rather his getting lost in a book and forgetting to mark his essays, or bumping clumsily into the cabinets while singing along to the radio on lazy Sunday mornings. 

            Of course, life hadn’t always been as bucolic for the couple as it was these days, so occasionally Draco found himself dealing with the lingering effects of Harry’s abusive childhood with the Dursley’s- reminding him to eat when he got busy, because Harry didn’t feel hunger the same way as everyone else after being so frequently deprived in his formative years, for example, or making sure that none of the closets or small spaces in their flat were too enclosed so Harry didn’t feel claustrophobic.  Draco was happy to do little things like this for the love of his life; he liked that he was privileged enough to be let into the parts of Harry’s past he was embarrassed or ashamed of, and he liked reminding him that he was perfect just the way he was and that none of the bad things that happened to him were his fault. 

            In this vein, one of the things that Draco found himself doing for Harry was nursing him back to health when the latter’s sub-par immune system got the better of him.  Normally it was just a bad cold or a nasty case of the flu that Draco’s superior potions skills could vanquish in a few days, during which he would floo Harry from their quarters at Hogwarts to their flat in Inverness, and Remus and Sirius were more than happy to come take over their posts for a few days (Sirius, although still a jokester as he inched towards middle age, was firmly kept in line by his werewolf husband, who was more than capable of teaching basic potions, since there was no dragging Severus anywhere _near_ a schoolchild of his own free will). 

Draco was used to checking his husband-to-be for any signs of ill-health, because Harry was unlikely to either notice them or to give them the serious consideration they deserved, prat as he was.  It was Draco’s little routine; meet Harry at the door of their quarters, peck him on the lips, feel his skin for any sign of fever (yes, he did this every day, no he didn’t strictly have to.  He was overprotective- so what?), watch him go about his post-last-class-of-the-day-routine to make sure all was well.  Honestly, who _wouldn’t_ want an excuse to watch Harry too-bloody-gorgeous-for-his-own-good Potter putter around with his green eyes shining, his toffee skin gleaming in the lamplight, his arse oh-so-fine in the robes Draco bought him?

It was a rainy day in late November when Draco noticed something slightly odd as he went about his usual ~~swooning~~ watching over Harry routine.  While the Gryffindor loved to fiddle with the simple platinum engagement band Draco had gotten him, he was rubbing it along the bottom joint of his ring finger far more vigorously than usual this afternoon. 

“Everything all right luv?” Draco asked, concern beginning to pool in his belly. 

“Hmm… oh, yeah,” Harry responded absently, looking down to where Draco’s eyes were on his hands.  “Just had a bit of an itch.”  He scratched his neck, as was another fiddly little habit of his, but this too Draco noticed was set about with far more ardour than Harry usually put into it. 

Draco walked over to the doorway to meet him and leaned down to bury his nose in the crook of Harry’s shoulder.  While savouring the affection, he found the source of his concerns in a line of small red blisters running from Harry’s collarbone to just behind his ear; the Gryffindor’s temperature, while it did have a tendency to run hot (as did its owner, in Draco’s tasteful opinion), it felt warmer than usual. 

“Darling?” he nudged Harry gently.

“Hmm?” the other responded, half-drowsy as he melted into his partner’s affectionate touch. 

“I can’t believe this slipped my mind earlier, but dare I venture to guess that your _relatives_ never took you to St. Mungoe’s to get the standard round of pre-Hogwarts vaccinations for muggleborns?”  His tone dropped nearly to a snarl as it always did whenever he talked about the Dursleys. 

“No, now that I think of it, I suppose they didn’t…” Harry hummed in agreement.  A far more forgiving person than his fiancée, he’d long since decided to let his ire with his childhood stay in the past where it infringed as little as possible on his happiness now. 

“Where are you going with this, Dray?”

“I think,” the blonde said, peering more closely at the spots, “that you may have come down with dragon pox.  We’ll have to call Remy and Pads and spent a couple weeks at the flat.” 

“Sounds all right with me,” Harry shrugged.  “Besides, it’s gotta be better than when I got chicken pox and was tossed in the cupboard for a week.  This time I have a handsome nurse.”  He smiled crookedly as he pressed his body closer to Draco’s and rubbed against him, moaning slightly as the friction of the contact offered a hint of relief for the itch that was beginning to assert itself more strongly by the minute.  Draco bit back his own moan as he pulled Harry’s hand away from where his nails were raking the thickening cluster of blisters along his neck. 

“No scratching of any kind- including sex, Potter.  They’ll scar.”  Harry just chuckled and pressed himself closer to Draco, rubbing an itchy spot on his inner thigh against a spot of _Draco’s_ inner thigh that he knew was overly sensitive.  “Come on love, we all know I’ve got scars aplenty already.  What’s a few more in the name of pleasure?”

Draco tried unsuccessfully to get rid of the more…em, _physical_ symptoms of his attraction to his fiancée with thoughts of pickled potions ingredients as he mused that even a spotty, fever-flushed Harry Potter was so attractive it should be a crime.  He should have just thought of the Dursleys and their role in _why_ Harry had so many scars in the first place; that was always a mood-killer.  But _damn,_ it was so hard to think at all when Harry was biting his lip like that and inching up on tip toes to nibble Draco’s ear. 

“Harry, quit being such a Slytherin and frog-march it to the floo; you need to rest.” 

“There’ll be plenty of time for resting later though, when I’m feeling worse.  Right now, I’m just a bit itchy, and we’ve experimented with stranger kinks, after all…”  Instead of heading to the fireplace, Harry was only melding more closely to Draco, the rubbing getting more insistent.  And if his love for Harry and concern for his well-being hadn’t made Draco Malfoy a stronger, better person, he would have caved right then.  But by supreme force of will, he didn’t.

“I’m going to go grab some of the potions I need from our lab and send a Patronus to Moony to gather what he and Siri will need for a couple weeks.  Against my better judgement, I’m trusting you to be a proper adult and not scratch for a few minutes.”  He shot Harry a glare he’d picked up from Molly Weasley as his partner inched towards the stone walls and started rubbing his back against them.  “Betray that trust and I will go Monica Geller on you and mitten your hands.  And feet…” he added as an afterthought as he absently kissed Harry on the forehead and started tossing things into a duffel bag. 

The chastised saviour, with effort, put his hands, palms down, against the worn wooden table and tried to sit still despite the escalating discomfort of itchy spots and thwarted sex.  “I should have never introduced you to muggle television,” he grumbled, but leaned into Draco’s affectionate touch nonetheless as the blonde tucked a stray curl behind his ear.  And he couldn’t help himself; he smiled slightly.  Some people were just made to go together, in sickness and in health. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to add a little second chapter to this. It's my first experiment with writing anything smutty, so please be nice.

        Draco was about to lose his goddamn mind.  For someone with such a high pain tolerance, Harry seemed to be having an awful lot of trouble with the direction: “Don’t scratch.”  He’d tried itch relieving potion first, but that was always a so-so remedy for dragon pox; and judging by how often Draco had had to pull Harry’s nails away from his spotty, rash-laden skin, Harry was one of the unfortunate group that didn’t derive much relief from any sort of salve. Draco tried oven mitts next, but Harry apparently had quite a bit of dexterity with his feet, so he’d had to tie them together. 

Then Harry had caterpillared his way up to rub his back roughly against the headboard (which hadn’t had such a rough ride since Harry’s last birthday when Draco got him a very _dirty_ gift), so Draco had used a sticking charm to hold his fiancé to the sheets.  Unfortunately, Harry was rather adept at wandless magic, so Draco came back in from preparing lunch to find a newly-freed saviour of the wizarding world going to town scraping his nails up and down his chest, arms, and muscled legs.  Mmm, legs… _focus!_ Draco forcibly shook his head to clear it of the tantalising image of those tan legs wrapped around his torso as he rode Harry like a broomstick. 

“Harry!” he cried, chastising. 

Big green eyes looked up at him guiltily, but the frenzied movement of hands over skin didn’t stop or even slow down.  “Come on Dray, I’m miserable here.  Just let me have this.  Or better yet, one good quick round of rough sex.  It’s been four days- that’s longer than we’ve _ever_ gone, and I’m _so_ uncomfortable.”

Draco tiredly ran a hand through his dishevelled blonde hair- caring for Harry had left him with no time to fix it.  At least this was better than the dangerously high fever Harry’d been running last night.  Nonetheless, this entire dragon pox debacle had been incredibly frustrating for both of them, and they weren’t even very far into the length of time an _average_ case lasted, let alone the recovery time for someone with Harry’s weakened immune system. 

            “We’ve been over this love; the more you scratch the worse they itch.  Besides, you could get an infection.”

            Harry whimpered.  “I _know_ that rationally, really I do, but it just feels _so good_.  Then you’re right, and the itching is worse, so I need to do it even _more_.” 

            “I know babe,” Draco told him softly, sitting on the bed and running his fingers through Harry’s sweaty hair, being careful not to touch the pox on his scalp and trigger the itching even more.  “But I was exploring that muggle interweb thingy, and I think I may have something that can help.”  He pointed to a box of oatmeal on the hitherto-unnoticed-by-Harry-lunch tray. 

            Harry perked up ever so slightly and gripped Draco’s hand, trying his best to keep his own away from his already-clawed and irritated skin.  “Oh yeah, I remember Petunia doing that for Dudley,” he remarked. “It seemed to help; I at least couldn’t hear him whine as much from my cupboard.”

            Draco’s lips tightened into a fine line.  “And they just left you in there to scratch yourself to ribbons?” he ground out.

            Harry squeezed his hand again.  “No, they tied my hands and feet together so I couldn’t, so at least _that_ didn’t leave any scars.”  He knew Draco wanted him to be open about things, but he hated how it seemed to bother his fiancé so much.  For him, these were just things he’d learned to live with by now, but Draco seemed to take every story of Vernon and Petunia’s cruelty as a personal offence. 

“Come on love,” the Iranian man nudged his fiancé.  “I could really use that bath.  Get in with me?”

“As if I could deny you with that face,” Draco said, kissing his nose, and soon they were both naked and up to their necks in breakfast cereal in their flat’s large bathtub.  Draco had insisted on an elegant bathroom remodel when they moved into their spacious but simple new home, and right now Harry thought it was the best decision they’d ever made as he sank further into the lukewarm water. 

“Mmm, this is the best I’ve felt in days,” Harry moaned, pushing his spotty toes against Draco’s slippery legs.  “Although I’m still pretty hot and bothered.  You have no right to look that delicious with oatmeal in your hair.” 

Draco thought his love was being rather unfair with that statement, since he’d had to deal with the fact that Harry still looked like a Middle-Eastern Adonis even adorned with a plethora of pox blisters and a sheen of fever sweat, but he merely pushed closer.  He couldn’t deny he felt his own groin protesting their forced lack of intimacy the past few days. 

“You know,” he said, giving in.  “You weren’t _that_ spotty, you know, down there.  I suppose it would be worth the risk for me to… take care of you, if it would make you more comfortable.”

Harry pulled the blonde to him so fast Draco felt like he’d grabbed a portkey, but soon his long elegant fingers were gently stroking Harry’s cock, getting him excited with expert touches of varying pressure in all the areas Harry liked.  Harry’s body was so familiar to Draco, and vice versa, that they could get each other to orgasm in less than a minute if they were trying, but the blonde took his time, stroking and pumping languidly and teasing Harry just enough that his release, when it happened, was enough to have him sighing in pleasure, itching forgotten as he turned and laid back against Draco’s soapy chest.  “We should try that again soon,” he murmured just before he drifted off into his first decent sleep in four days.  “I bet cum works even better than oatmeal.” 


End file.
